


Sepia

by verywell



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 19:07:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20452088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verywell/pseuds/verywell
Summary: Only at evergreen concerts like this could the past be acknowledged and celebrated. Inspired by Harry and Niall's reunion at The Eagles.





	Sepia

**Author's Note:**

> “I didn’t find a perfect moment, because I think that today was just about just having today. And I think that we are one of those couples with a long story, when people ask how they found each other. I will see her every now and then, and… Maybe one year she’ll be with somebody, and the next year, I’ll be with somebody, and it’s gonna take a long time… And then it’s perfect. I’m in no rush.”
> 
> -The Office (Season 5 - Episode 26: Company Picnic)

* * *

It couldn’t have been that simple.

There was no other venue more symbolic nor a soundtrack more golden. Wembley Stadium was commandeered by The Eagles that warm summer night and they were nothing but specks in the audience, voices drowned in togetherness and hearts buoyed by the romance of nostalgia. It was an atmosphere for reminiscing youth and falling in love.

But no matter how ideal the setting, Niall knew this was not the moment. It was too early for anything to happen, just four years since the disbandment.

Niall had texted Harry (“_at the Eagles, bud?”_), but it was Jeff who had texted back with their location. Before Niall could think, he had already leapt past the railings, eyes roving the venue for a certain brunette with whom he used to share that Wembley stage and so much more.

The meet-up could go several ways: Harry could be over the moon and they could be spending the rest of the concert, belting out classics and spilling beer in their hands, overwhelmed by memories of vinyl nights on a trundling bus. Or Harry could be shut-off and broody, occupied by the goings-on in his head, his soul a far distance away. The worst-case scenario, Niall thinks, would be seeing Harry, civil and rigid, stumbling through a conversation like the strangers they would fast become if they weren’t careful.

Still, there was no shaking off the restlessness of striding up to the gate from where Harry was spectating, arms crossed, lips pursed, and brows creased in that petulant way.

“Harry,” Niall called.

“Horan,” Harry said curtly, unmoving from his lot by the wall.

“All right, sourpuss?” Niall tried for a grin, “Why the long face?”

“Philly,” Jeff sighed.

_So, they were still a thing. There. Too early. _

Harry snorted and Jeff sighed again, as though he had endured an entire day pelted by the shrapnel of Harry’s snide remarks.

Niall didn’t miss the way Harry’s phone lit up like a Christmas tree every few seconds, notifications blitzing through in rapid succession. At every buzz, Harry would have a staredown with the screen, jaws clenched and shoulders tense.

Texts still fly between them; the random “_hows you_”, “_saw the news. congratulations_” and “_thoughts? file: .mp4_”. Now and then, Harry responds, oftentimes Harry doesn’t. But Niall always does, a thread of blue speech bubbles punctuated by emojis, always ending with questions, because that was Niall leaving the door open for Harry to return.

Niall had stopped inviting Harry to golf though; they were hardly orbiting the same centres anymore and sport was his niche he could do without sharing. Just like how Niall knew not to waltz up the steps to the MET Gala, Harry should know not to expect offers to golf tournaments.

Not that Niall was asked to the MET.

No, he isn’t sore about it. Niall understands that Harry is on a quest for re-invention; shrewdly aligning himself with events and brands to become a luminary in his own right. He needed the night for his art and the headlines for affirmation. He needed a win. Harry is finding his feet in his future and Niall does not take it personally that he has become a fragment of history in Harry’s life. Such a watershed moment of hosting the gala should not be dampened by a lukewarm reunion, soured by the dregs of the past, this much Niall knew.

Only at evergreen concerts like this could the past be acknowledged and celebrated.

Oh, but to love a hurricane. It rains and it pours and flattens lands clean but Niall clings on to the belief that the eye of the storm is always at peace, no matter how it surges and swells. Niall had been swept off his feet a long time ago, but he liked to think no matter where the hurricane goes, he goes with it, right there at its heart. Arguably, being there in the eye meant being trapped with no safe exit in sight. Still, it was a spot he fought for, having survived the harshest winds, deadliest bolts and fiercest heartbreaks during their teenage years in the band.

“Someone really misses you,” Niall teased as the phone buzzed again, over the strings of _Desperado_.

“Oh, I bet they do,” Harry finally cracked a smile and Niall’s heart soared at the sight. A small victory but a victory, nonetheless. Harry had moved his phone to his back pocket now, and they stood elbow to elbow, visions finally aligned, eyes trained onstage.

They had a long way to go and more opportunities to meet. The next time they do, there was no telling that Niall may be ready to date again, or Harry would have entrusted his heart to someone else.

But perhaps at a concert in time to come, when the world has forgotten their names and there isn't a future to worry about, he’d rest his back against Harry’s chest, lazily swaying to a rock ballad in his inked arms. Perhaps he’d tilt his chin up for their smiles to touch, sweet against each other. 

There will be that moment somewhere down the road and when they get there, it will all be worth it.

Niall is in no rush. 


End file.
